The Art of Regret: Sirene's Song
by Mary J. Watson
Summary: She has the voice of an angel. A voice that can rupture an eardrum with the flip of her tongue. Why is she in New York? And who is she? Will she be the angel that New York needs or will she be the devil that brings New York to her knees?
1. Chapter 1

_Just so you know, this is a story that I posted up here a very long time ago. It needed quite a bit of work and so I revamped it and am reposting it here. Hope you enjoy!_

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1. Chapter One

There was blood in her eyes, its syrupy-thick liquid causing her eyes to sting as if it were not blood but saltwater. The blood continued to fall over her brow and into her eyes until it had blinded her.

The air was alive with screaming. People were crying out for her to save them but she could not see where they were in order to do so. She had her hands out in front of her, a blind woman searching for the cages that were within twenty feet of her reach.

Her hands skirted over a fine linen shirt. She threw herself back but was not quick enough and the man grabbed her by the shoulders. He pushed her against a wall, his hot breath in her ear, his pulsing body pressed against her delicate frame. She felt his hands on her neck. Slowly he traced the taught muscles of her neck as she tilted her head away in disgust. His fingers traced the smooth but taught skin down to her breast bone but all she could hear were the screams as they grew louder, begging to be free, pleading for the mysterious woman to save them. Some did not plead… some just cried.

"I guess this should be our final goodbye," The man whispered, his hands traveling the deep v-cut that dipped between her breasts to below her bellybutton. Between her breasts, a mother-of-pearl pendant of a mermaid kept the deep v-cut together so that it didn't slip and reveal too much of her lily-white skin. She didn't need her eyesight to know that his eyes were locked on this pendant, or perhaps they were locked onto what lay on either side. "I'm leaving Europe tomorrow. I would advise you not to follow but I don't think I'll have to worry about that."

His fingers traced the pendant's curves, coming dangerously close to her trembling skin. "It's a pity, a true pity." He pushed his rigid body against hers, pressing a kiss to her torn and bloody lips. She tried to turn her head but he held her in place. Just the feeling of his cold lips against hers was enough to make her want to vomit. Luckily he pulled away just as she felt her lunch coming back up and snapped his fingers. Luck really was not on her side. "Kill her."

She heard his footsteps against the metal grating of the floor as he walked away. She heard the screams of the trapped people grow louder still as he walked past them. No doubt, their filthy little fingers would be reaching out from in between the bars of the cages. They would reach out and grab onto his pant legs and he would kick their desperate fingers, cursing them like the king he believed himself to be and they as the lowly louse-ridden peasants.

She heard the sound of more footsteps; these were slower and were coming towards her, not away. The blood was still oozing from the gash on her forehead and brow, her sight still failing her. Her ears tingled at the effort of hearing their hushed whispers above the racket of the screams.

She assessed from their voices and footsteps that there were five men, five heavy men. The cogs in her head began to turn furiously as she tried to think of a way to get the people out of the cages. The cogs abruptly stopped when she felt a searing hot pain in her stomach.

Her back arched against the wall in pain, head thrown back, mouth open. Her mouth was open but no tortured scream came from within. Seconds passed and finally, her scream came. This was a scream that was beyond any normal human's range. The sound rumbled deep within her ribcage, the sound of tumbling boulders before an avalanche. Slowly the sound climbed up her throat and by the time it had reached the tonsils at the back of her throat, it had evolved into a high-pitched screech causing the rafters to shake violently. Heavy metal sheets loosened and fell from the ceiling. Her mouth closed and she tried to walk forward but the pain grew like fire inside of her and she realized she was stuck.

The people in the cages were screaming in a foreign tongue.

Energy flowed out from her body as though someone had pulled her cork and the nectar of life was flowing out onto the floor in puddles at her feet. Indeed, when her hands went to feel for the thing that was causing her so much pain she felt blood flowing freely from around a long shaft that had impaled her and kept her stuck to the wall.

The blood stopped flowing from the gash at her forehead and soon after her vision cleared. The five men were in the cages, guns in hand. Gunshots rang out and the screams became more panicked. She watched, a black mist slowly obscuring her vision again. The people crammed in the cages ran around like chickens before the butcher. Some people were pushed against the bars, crushed by the weight of the mob that tried desperately to hide from the bullets. Her hands pulled at the shaft that went through her but there was no doubt, it was safely secured to the wall as though it had been placed in cement.

It wouldn't be long. Her energy was failing her. She screamed out in frustration. She looked up into the cages again. The gunshots were still ringing. A little boy's big brown eyes were looking at her, tears causing them to glass over. He was pressed against the cage, one arm thrust in between the bars, tiny little fingers reaching for her.

"Ayudame." He formed with his lips, the tears falling from his eyes and into his sobbing mouth. "Ayudame, senorita."

She pulled at the shaft with all of her strength. The numbness began at her shoulders, slowly moving down to her elbows. She screamed as the shaft shifted, sending tremors of heat through her body. With as much strength she could muster, she pulled the shaft from her stomach and immediately collapsed onto the floor. She looked up at the cage, only able to move her neck. The little boy was watching her, hand still outstretched.

The black veil was falling.

The black curtain was falling on her life. The final curtain call.

This was the end.

She only wished she could have saved them. She wished she could have watched the life slipping from that terrible man as it was slipping from her now.

The curtain fell and it was over.

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_Will update very soon! I already have the next few chapters written up but I want to see what you guys think before I add them... just in case I need to change some things in them._


	2. Chapter 2

2. Chapter 1

"Dr. Jacque Rausenbleum. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." The elderly reporter smiled before reaching across her desk to shake hands with Dr. Rausenbluem who was accompanied by a tall young woman. "And this must be your fiancée, Ms. Summers. Welcome Dr. Rausenbluem, Ms. Summers."

Hardly old enough to be considered a man, Jacques Rausenbluem took the reporter's hand in his and very lightly brushed his lips over the top of her palm. The reporter blushed madly. Composing herself, she smoothed her skirt out then took a seat. Jacque did the same. He was dressed in a finely tailored black and gray tweed jacket, his chin squared; brown eyes warm beneath thin black eyebrows. His lips curled into an amiable smile.

"Thank you for having us Jeanne." Dr. Rausenbluem spoke with a light French accent. He placed his hand over his fiancée's.

Ms. Summers' ruby lips moved into a smile, emerald-green eyes glittering. The reporter was stunned into silence by the woman's entrancing eyes then as she caught herself staring, she began shuffling the papers on her desk as she sought to find the right one.

"Now, tell me Dr. Rausenbluem," She found the paper she had been looking for and at once her old, weathered eyes began to scan it. "I'm sure you're aware of the numerous rumors that have been crossing the globe. You've created a, correct me if I'm wrong," She paused, searching for the phrase within the paper. "A phylogenetic distribution of regenerative abilities…?" The elderly reporter's eyes crossed in a display of apparent confusion. She continued staring at the paper, not sure if she had said it right or not.

Dr. Rausenbluem chuckled, running his fingers through his thick head of raven-black hair, "Yes, that's what the scientific community likes to call it. To put it into laymen's terms, it's quite simply the ability to remake a limb. My team of scientists have spent decades analyzing and dissecting the part of amphibian DNA that contains the recipe for recreating lost limbs. Finally, we have found the exact strand that controls regeneration and we've begun experimenting with DNA syndicates."

Ms. Summers clasped her hands together then placed them in her lap. She wanted to spout off the truth of her fiancee's work to the reporter but, as much as she hated to admit it, Jacque had brought her here to the Daily Bugle to parade her around as a trophy and nothing more. If she opened her mouth at all, it would have to be to say something coy and completely lacking of intelligence.

_Typical Jacque. Always wanting to show the others what he has and what they don't. _She thought to herself. All she had to do was sit, metal rod through her spine, smile painted onto her cherry lips, and wait for the reporter to write down all of the information she required.

So much waiting and smiling was nothing new for her. As a child she had been very shy but even more so beautiful. Her parents, who were the crème-de-la-crème of socialites throughout Europe, detested such shy behavior and threw her into the world of modeling to try and strip off her shy exterior. To her mother's great pleasure, the popping white lights of the world of modeling had stripped her of her shy tendencies and molded her into a young woman "worthy of the Summer's name". But what it had really done was teach her how to be what others wanted her to be in order to preserve her true self. She was still the same Ada but on the outside she was someone completely different. A mask of her real self.

Her thoughts were her sanctuary but this was not the time or place for them. A sudden tension in the room jarred her back into Ms. Janson's office at the Daily Bugle.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Janson," Jacque stood, his polite façade obviously ruffled. "But I do believe that our interview is done."

Ada Summers watched, knowing all too well that Jacques had reached the end of his rope. A very short rope indeed. She did not know how it would end, but she did know that it would not end well. When Jacque lost his patience things never ended well. She knew this was going to happen. His research always seemed to put him on the edge. Talking about it would have the same effect.

"But Dr. Rausenbluem, you agreed to twenty minutes." The reporter stood, her face panicked. "We still have ten more minutes left. You can't just leave. Please, sir. I have a deadline to make and lest you forget that we had a verbal agreement!"

Jacque's face flushed a deep burgundy. "Jacque," Ada put her hand on his arm, lightly. "Please, sit down."

"I suppose you didn't hear me correctly." Jacque jerked his arm away then slammed his fist down onto the reporter's desk. Her thin, beanstalk-like body jumped into the air. "Our interview has been terminated. As a good rule of thumb, Ms. Janson, get everything down in writing. Now, good day!" He stalked to the door, opened it and was about to step out when he paused and turned his head back. "Ada, we're leaving."

He rushed through the typing room quickly enough to send the papers on the close-set desks fluttering like uncaged birds. The reporters who had been typing on their laptops had to make a mad dash to hold them down.

As Ada stood she noticed a small crowd of reporters at Ms. Janson's office door. Their curiosity had obviously been peaked when they heard Jacques' angry voice from inside the office.

"Ms. Janson." Ada stood across from the shivering woman, her desk the only thing separating the two. "I'm sorry about Dr. Rausenbluem. Please forgive him. It was a great pleasure to meet you." She reached across the desk to clasp the reporter's trembling hand in hers.

No sooner had the young woman left the room, the crowd of reporters bustled in.

Above the buzzing ruckus one man's voice rose above the din, "Want me to go drag him back in here, Jeannie?"

The reporter plopped down into her chair, a sigh escaping her pursed lips. "No, that's all right Peter. Not a lot of good that'll do. If he doesn't want to talk…" She paused. Slowly, she opened her palm. A folded piece of white paper had been slipped into her hand. Steadying her hands, she unfolded the piece of paper and read it. "If he doesn't want to talk, _he_ doesn't have to."


End file.
